


All of their Selves

by pettiot



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Blindfolds, Consent Issues, Dark, M/M, dark!basch, ropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:07:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22415995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettiot/pseuds/pettiot
Summary: 'Eat twice,' Noah snarls, 'eat twice you said, I'll eat twice butnever again at your table: Gabranth is a cruel cruel man and you'll not turn me into him again.'
Relationships: Basch/Balthier, Gabranth/Balthier
Kudos: 3





	All of their Selves

Balthier's arrivals are spontaneous. He allows Basch little time for preparation, but Basch is a Magister now, performing small miracles and the conquest of nations on likewise short notice.

The lobby's sallow light flatters neither of them, so they do not linger beyond the time it takes for a servant to capture Balthier's coat, brief greetings aired to resemble politeness. In the reading room, the chairs resemble thrones, the dark green leather flattering Balthier's frame and complexion, one reason why Basch nearly always brings him through to here. The near-feral nature of Balthier's outward mask, dark tan, sun-wild hair, the shift and stretch of limbs through an animal's unselfconscious range juxtaposes beautifully against Gabranth's walls of shelved law and order. Basch watches the pirate's hands move through the hypnotic paths that accompany each wandering tale. Each time Balthier pauses to lick his lips, Basch pours a generous measure of scotch, which the pirate drinks as he always does, without limitation and as greedily as if each glass will be his last. As the night lengthens Basch continues to pour the same for Balthier while disregarding himself. Basch feels no guilt that Balthier, given freedom, will drink himself to blindness. They both know why Balthier returns, months between visits. Basch would feel happier with honest words between them, but Archades does not encourage honesty, and as for Balthier, he cannot articulate any of his desires until the ability to form words is almost beyond him.

At last Balthier excuses himself to seek a bathroom, the walls offering more stability than his balance. Basch makes a discreet phone call to a crisis house in Old Archades. As the dial rings for an extended period of time Basch nearly disconnects, imagining a riot rather than a dozing receptionist. It is too late, and night in Old Archades is time for strife. The time permits two great guilts to fight in Basch's chest. What Basch would call _familial duty_ is the stronger, familial duty wins, that when a sleepy voice answers Basch asks for Noah in Gabranth's unrepentant tones. The following brief monologue is awkward: _he's here_ , Basch said, with no expectation yet still a wistful hope for Noah's response, _will you come again?_

It is Noah that disconnects them. Basch makes another call, this one to the guardhouse that borders Old Archades and the ascent to the upper, and announces himself Gabranth. He informs them that he is currently on assignment in Old Archades and will attempt to ascend: the guards are to treat him as they would any vagrant, but worse, handcuffs and a forceful delivery of 'the vagrant' to Judge Magister Gabranth's apartment is required. Basch warns the guards that he will be acting in character, surly and unhelpful, the entire trip.

As the latter conversation ends, Balthier returns, his forelock wet. He would wash his hands, Basch imagines, and run dripping fingers through his hair to dry. Balthier's eyes are red and vague. Two uncertain steps and Balthier is in Basch's arms, sloppy lips seeking until Basch turns his head and claims a kiss that Balthier intends for a ghost. The pirate grinds against him, cock thick and awkward with drink as much as desire. Basch guides him through long, treacherously carpeted corridors to Gabranth's bedchamber.

There is a single fraught moment while Balthier still struggles with his belts: when a servant knocks at the anteroom's door. The tension is all Basch's and not Balthier's. Basch fields the servant, waves Balthier through to the bedroom, listens to the servant's curt announcement of Noah's arrival. 'Feed him,' Basch instructs (his voice he keeps very low), 'he must eat; then bathe him and get him a haircut, a shave—'

'My lord,' the servant acknowledges, even as Balthier moans Basch's true name from the darkness. Basch never wonders what they think of him, these servants, he suspects this subterfuge is but a matter of normalcy in Archades. Basch opens his wardrobe to draw out the box that sits snug and hidden under layers of uniformity: it was this box, found amongst his brother's old belongings, that first gave Basch the idea to even try this scenario. Balthier is jacking himself hard by the time Basch turns to the bed, one hand above and the other pinned under his own weight, fingers fucking himself. Basch disengages everything, gently, kisses slick palm and salted, and Balthier chokes, makes a sound rich with longing, 'ah, Basch, what did I ever do to deserve this?'

Basch kisses lips that are by now near rubbery with drink. He runs the fabric of a blindfold back and forth between his hands. By the time Balthier's desperate hands discover what Basch holds the pirate is moaning and open. Even in the dimmed light Basch sees Balthier's sudden shock, the childish unguarded slide of expression into a hesitant eagerness. 'Are you in that mood?' Balthier stutters, 'Basch – of course you – you don't have to ask, I know what you want – you can – of course you can — ah, fuck me --'

The bridge of Balthier's nose is aristocratically high: Basch makes doubly sure that the fabric's folds blanket everything, tight enough no headtoss will disregard his knots. Balthier mouths upwards, a blind fish seeking air. Basch kisses each bound eye, the tip of the proud nose, and takes one last kiss before he settles in place a well-worn gag.

Each limb Basch lavishes before he binds it, affixes it, studying Balthier's skin and each stripe of gold or white: bronzed hands and pale arms, tanned shins and white thighs. The pirate's belly heaves with anticipation by the time he is at last doubled, knees nearly tucked into his eye sockets, long cock flexing between alertness and wary fear across that folded belly. The ropes vibrate with strain; Basch does not allow for movement, this is too dangerous for that. Basch licks behind each knee to elicit a moan, strokes with slicked fingers all compressed height and eagerness until the pirate vibrates with need to match his ropes. That need will make this easier for him. The application of considerable slick to that already-wanting opening has Balthier groan against his gag: in the absence of facial features (the blindfold is generous, the gag distorting lips that otherwise speak volumes), Basch looks instead to the column of Balthier's throat, the flicker of high pulse, each swallow and uncertainty stark against thin skin. A trickle of wetness leaks from the corner of Balthier's mouth, to evidently bother him; he tosses his head in an effort to wipe his cheek on the pillows.

Basch finds that helplessness both repellent and unconscionably desirable. He wipes Balthier's cheek.

A knock on the door disturbs them for a second time. 'Sorry,' Basch says as he rises (Balthier makes a frustrated noise, and shivers towards fingers no longer there); at the door the same servant as before informs him in a whisper his visitor is ready. 'I'm so sorry,' Basch tries again, over his shoulder, 'gods Balthier, this damned job, I know why you left it now.' The pirate moans through his gag and attempts to tug himself free. 'It'll only take a moment, Balthier, it's just a phone call, I'll be direct in returning.'

In the ante the servant leaves the brothers alone. Basch scours Noah's face desperately without knowing what he looks for, some trace cognizance, a remnant of the self that so bravely stood against an undying evil, but Noah regards him back with the blank gaze of a man without knowledge of the day, much less his inner being. The wash, the shave, the impromptu haircut has rid that thin frame of its protection of dirt, to reveal countless small bruises, nicks and scrapes, bites and bloodied remnants of encounters with the crueler of Old Archades denizens. Noah wanders, the care centre staff had informed Basch, and they could not watch him constantly nor do they wish to with his otherwise level of competence, Noah wanders as though looking for something he lost, a displaced bauble from his childhood some days, the blades that Vayne had bequeathed him on others; Noah queries each stranger he finds, some politely, some with arrogance, as though the world withholds from him answers that should be obvious. Basch had not understood why Noah would bother to return to that single succoring shelter, only to be told Noah returned only to ask for Basch, as though Basch too had been a lost childhood toy. Attempt at forceful incarceration had resulted in death, Basch remembers, and destruction: within him Noah could still quicken towards impotent rage, yet he harmed no one for as long as he could wander, and as long as his choice for silence or speech was never threatened.

Basch slides the robe from Noah's shoulders and flinches from what lies beneath. The sores and scabs and bites, the sickness has been tended by the servants, brutality still evident, yet it is not that surface hurt which gives life to Basch's pity. Noah's frame is as large as his brother's, deceptive when garbed, to hide a hollowed stomach that gnaws itself beneath wide, high ribs. Noah's madness does not have him seek any food but the intangible sustenance of the gods.

'Have you eaten,' Basch murmurs, 'I'll not let you see him if you haven't eaten.'

In response Noah opens his mouth (chipped teeth, Basch identifies, one more lost to a reasonless brawl Noah will not remember fighting), and breathes; there is the scent of the soup Basch suffered for his supper, salted ham and peas softened with stewing.

'You will eat before you go again,' Basch hisses, 'vow it, Noah, you will eat before you leave tonight. Tis a contract, two meals, and I'll let you see him.' The reluctant nod which follows is a child's nod, unforgiving of the smile that lurks on Noah's lips, sinister.

Into the bedroom they walk together, the carpet thick enough to hide all footsteps, where on the bed Balthier's imaginings have made of him a longing wreck of tense flesh and erection. Noah's distress likewise grows the closer they come to the bed – he recognizes Balthier still, Basch knows it, Basch knows it else he would not ever dare to do this, not to either of them, no – but just the same his brother's near-animal terror Basch cannot bear— (Once Basch thought he heard Noah hiss a _no_ to this, a hesitation that sounded of a burbling denial, _he's old…Ffamran's old…what's happened_ — )

Noah relaxes once Basch secures the second blindfold in place. With gaunt hands Noah feels and finds the flesh that waits for him, that knows not of his presence. It takes him some time, and Balthier is whining high in his throat; Noah's fingers fuck that opened hole with a dumb unfeeling that has Basch cringe inside (he dares this, gods, he dares toy with the trust of a man who can scarce unwind enough to give it); until feel of wanting and Balthier's forgiving lust sparks remembrance in Noah of what touch and connection can mean.

The sanctity of Basch's sentiment is destroyed in a great, gurgling moan that sounds as Noah mounts, and thrusts, and Basch must turn his back. Distance is an insufficient barrier to sound, Balthier's awkward choked groans that die on the gag, the child's noises of insouciant, near-bestial lust that come from his brother: it will be over soon, Basch tells himself, and Noah whole for a small while longer, alive, well, cleaned and fed, and Balthier will wake with but a hangover, and no one the wiser but all of them the better for it—

'Basch,' Balthier says.

Basch turns, his eyes wide in the dimmed light of the room, to find Noah still rides that willing flesh, but in his hands he holds the gag that had bound Balthier.

'Oh gods Basch,' Balthier sobs (still blindfolded, Basch assures himself, gods, still blindfolded). 'You never fuck me hard like this, ah gods, ah gods, I'm going to break.'

Noah seeks not to dislodge his own blindfold, not yet, but with fumbling hands he finds instead the ropes that force Balthier's openness. He has a blade, Basch sees with some horror, secreted somehow, past guards and servants both, Noah has a blade but the sole use to which he puts it is to sever Balthier's ties.

On the instant of release the pirate's legs snap flat again, tensioned beyond comfort, his shoulders rising from pillows with hands that reach with desperation for a form that will surely betray Basch. But Balthier merely embraces, drawing that skeletal flesh closer, his lips kissing bruise and wound and scab and the scarce pale wholeness with equal measure, equal longing. 'Basch,' Balthier whispers, with such rich drunken love Basch nearly cries out his lie, 'can I fuck you?'

Noah pushes that bow-strung form back to the sheets, to rise on legs that surely creak with strain, to set himself to straddle with knowing proficiency the pirate's longing member; the pair of them still blindfolded Noah rides the pirate to a completion that was not long in coming, that provoked one last insulting moan, 'dear gods oh Basch! Basch! At last you fuck me like you mean it!'

And as he rides the aftershocks Noah draws the blindfold from his own eyes, casts it away and stares at his brother, his expression twisted with a vile, incontrovertible hatred: Noah weeps, Basch noticed. Noah weeps, wretched and cruelly and shuddering, and entirely without a sound.

Only once they are safely outside the bedroom again does Basch release his brother's wrists. Noah wipes the spill of come from between his thighs, unselfconscious, and brings that hand to his lips. Basch slaps it away in unthinking reaction to find Noah, cheeks still awash with tears, suddenly feral and hissing. 'Eat twice,' Noah snarls, 'eat twice you said, I'll eat twice but _never again at your table_ : Gabranth is a cruel cruel man and you'll not turn me into him again.'

Basch's sudden joy shrivels in the inferno of Noah's last words. But there is worse yet, for by then their unwary exchange has permitted Balthier, unleashed, time enough to remove his blindfold and stagger to the door, where his hiccup alerts them to his presence. His eyes are wide, a crazed gaze that flicks between them, brilliant blindness set in a face rapidly becoming unnaturally pale. Basch has warning: he steps back when Balthier vomits, Noah forwards, slick hand and dry held out as though to offer some form of solace. Balthier sinks to his knees to heave again, again, until nothing comes from his mouth but sounds of pain, the spread of dark liquor and bile an encroaching circle that threatens carpet as well as wood.

Basch draws Noah further away, out of the room, and calls for the servants. After ensuring Noah has sufficient clothes to last a winter, Basch hastens his brother from the apartment that once was his. By the time Noah leaves his face is lax with idiocy again. Basch should not feel relieved, but he does. When he returns two Moogles are mopping the mess in the bedroom's ante; Basch moves past them. Balthier curls in the bed, his spine to the door. Basch does not hesitate before sliding between his own bedsheets. He turns off the lamp. He imagines he can smell the ghost of his brother still there. Basch allows his hand to stroke the knots of Balthier's spine. 'Basch,' the pirate acknowledges, thickly, 'I must be so drunk, I had the strangest dream. You were fucking me so magnificently, for hours, and I pulled off my blindfold – I was wearing a blindfold, did I mention? – only to find I'd been fucking your corpse, all manky and horrible and bones, except it wasn't you or your corpse, in any a manner except that of a dream.'

Perhaps Basch can still smell his brother's ghost, lingering in these rooms that had so long been Gabranth's. The man's name is like a hollow shell, a coffin seeking a corpse. If Basch reached out into this new darkness he is certain a cold hand would clasp his own in return. He is so assured of this the hair on his nape stands on end. Light could dispel ths fantasy, but Basch is immobilised by such a sense of impending doom that he cannot even reach for the lamp by his bed.

Gabranth's hand has no hesitation, but Gabranth has no desire for illumination. Instead, Gabranth's cold fingertips follow Balthier's spine to its terminus. Tailbone. The cleft beneath. The arsehole within, still wet with fucking and agreeably open. Balthier flinches at the thrust but does not deny entry. Gabranth is pleased. After a night of extensive foreplay, he has yet to find his own release.

'You've already told me that dream. You had the same one the last time you were here.'

Balthier yawns. 'These walls are hung with nightmares.'


End file.
